


Her First

by Jaded_Girl_83



Series: Steps Towards Intimacy [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Coersion, F/M, Rape, Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaded_Girl_83/pseuds/Jaded_Girl_83
Summary: The Emperor considers his minions tools, and makes sure to use every skill and advantage his underlings can provide as a weapon to further his will. And Mara is a beautiful girl. So why wouldn’t he take advantage of that?
Series: Steps Towards Intimacy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581109
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Her First

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit darker and more explicit than my usual stuff.
> 
> NB: IMHO, while possessed of very strong emotions, Mara clearly values acting in a way that is always rational, even clinical. When interacting with others she is driven and detached, largely keeping to herself, neither accustomed nor inclined to forming bonds with others. And while Mara has clearly been trained to flirt and dazzle, full-on fourth-base seduction seems to be completely off the menu, and invariably avoided when she’s calling her own shots. 
> 
> But as the Emperor's Hand, someone else called the shots.
> 
> This is what I picture happening.

Mara was a beautiful girl.

She knew it, and knew it could be used to great advantage. And the Emperor was not one to let any advantage go to waste.

Mara ambled idly around the ball, playing with her glass of ambrosine and trying to modulate her body language. This was to be her first attempt at seduction. She’d been coached and drilled by her instructors, trained to identify the most advantageous approach to each situation. An easy target had been chosen due to her youth and inexperience, and Mara was determined to stick with the most reliable course of action.

For at least the tenth time this evening, the Vicomte Delmon Vashathi’s eyes turned her way. She had “accidentally” met his gaze once, “furtively” twice, and now- finally- she maintained eye contact. She cued a shy smile and a faint blush across her features before deliberately turning away as if he didn’t matter.

Like luring mynocks. Her coy behavior would’ve been irresistible to all but the most stubbornly disinterested, and the Vicomte’s playboy reputation was legendary even in the neighboring systems. As he strolled towards her with causal purpose, she surreptitiously watched his approach, cataloguing weak points and attack opportunities. It was an exercise born from habit and boredom; there was neither information to gather nor threat to assess tonight. This was strictly a practice run.

She gave a little start of surprise at his “unexpected” appearance as he captured her hand. “You must be new to the system,” his deep voice purred. “For surely I would have remembered such a lovely creature as yourself.”

Mara lowered her eyes in a believable display of bashfulness as he kissed her hand in standard fashion. She found herself absently wondering when exactly the word “creature” had become an appropriate description for an object of desire. She’d always been tempted to use the word when describing something grotesque.

“May I have a name to attach to such a vision?” he continued.

He could have a name; after all, he never said it had to be her real one. “ _edala_ Reniska Torr of Third Tier, My Lord,” she answered, stealing brief glances at him through her eyelashes.

“‘ _edala’_?” He echoed her status designation with sudden uncertainty, his eyes traveling briefly down her body. A slight wariness filtered into his sense. “So you’ve just come out in society, have you? Is this your first ball?”

“Yes, your highness,” Mara answered with a demure curtsey.

The wariness deepened, but he affected a light tone. “First of many, I’m sure. After all, you’re just… how old?”

“Eighteen,” Mara lied firmly, citing this planet’s legal age of consent. There shouldn’t be much cause for worry; her dress and makeup had been specially chosen to make her appear older. It would be mostly true in a few years, anyway.

The Vicomte relaxed again. “And already so lovely,” he replied without missing a beat. “So, your first ball.” He leaned casually against the balustrade beside them, his sleeve brushing against her arm. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Mara performed another coy toss of her head as she shrugged and looked away. She did her best to act like she was trying to act blasé, all the while perfectly aware that her movement exposed the smooth skin of her neck to the eager young nobleman. She could feel his eyes traveling across the line of her bare shoulder. “I suppose.”

“You suppose?” he said, his voice somewhere between amused and incredulous.

She spun to face him, a stricken expression on her face. “Oh no- it’s a lovely party! I didn’t mean to imply otherwise! Everything is so beautiful…” She let her voice trail off, continuing with a forlorn wistfulness. “I was just hoping that it would be… memorable.”

The Vicomte laughed and stepped around so that he faced her. “Well now. What can we do to make sure your first ball is _memorable_?”

On a whim, Mara checked his eyes for evidence that the arresting cobalt shade had been artificially engineered and, to her great amusement, found some. She dropped her gaze again. “Actually, I was very much hoping to meet _you_ ,” she murmured. As if having suddenly gathered her courage, she met his eyes with an expression both shy and determined.

The implications were not lost on her target. His teeth flashed unnaturally white in his tanned face. “I’m flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she retorted lightly. She gave him a playful, sidelong glance. “Meeting you in person… you’re even more handsome than they said.”

He laughed again, and his manicured hand captured hers again to raise it to his lips. Dark curls tumbled over his forehead. “Please allow me to return the compliment. You are the most exquisite woman I have ever met.”

Mara didn’t have to wonder how many times a standard cycle he used that line- she’d researched his exploits beforehand. (And had subsequently made sure to request a full inoculation before leaving Coruscant.) But she tittered and blushed as his mouth moved across her knuckles. A chivalric gesture, and therefore highly hypocritical; even without the Force she could tell that he was undressing her in his mind.

He left his lips hovering over her hand, and she faked a little shudder. She drew closer to him before throwing a guilty, unhappy look around the ballroom. “It’s so crowded and noisy in here,” she pouted. She met his eyes again, intensifying the odd combination of bold and bashful she’d managed a moment earlier. “I wish we could go someplace… private.”

Satisfaction shot through the other’s sense. She managed to keep from squirming as his hand slid down her spine towards her backside. “I know just the place.”

* * *

Vicomte Vashathi was not one for subtlety; he took her directly to his private guest quarters. And if he wasn’t going to beat around the bulkhead, there was no reason to keep up the coy act anymore. So Mara just focused on displaying equal parts nervousness and eagerness in her body language.

He poured some wine. There was some flirty small talk and innuendo before a drop of wine gave him an excuse to touch her mouth. She gave him a frozen-in-the-crosshairs look and made her eyes zero in on his lips. Her instructors had indeed been right; Vashathi was a ridiculously easy mark. With a smoothness born from much practice, he began to kiss her.

What followed was a textbook example of classic foreplay. In fact, Mara found she could mentally check off the Vicomte’s actions in more or less the same order her instructors had recommended during her training. She took a surreptitious breath; now the real challenge began. She sorted through the hormones beginning to course through her system, clinically identifying their origins and effects. The trick was maintaining control over herself while behaving as if she were throwing all control to the winds. Above all, the target must not suspect duplicity.

But as his kisses grew deeper and began roaming away from her mouth, Mara found maintaining detachment harder than she’d anticipated. She’d done it quite satisfactorily back in the neural training center of the Imperial Palace. There, she’d been given complex analytical tasks and Force exercises to accomplish while the pleasure centers of her brain had been stimulated. But whether due to the more natural environment of the private quarters or the tactile sensations of the kisses and caresses, she was having a much harder time focusing.

His hands began to slide around her midsection, probing for gaps in the fabric of her dress, and Mara’s body involuntarily shuddered in response. She grimly clung to her higher faculties and began exploring the Vicomte’s mind in an effort to distract herself. She quickly concluded that any attempt to pry information from a subject’s mind during coitus was going to be futile. Judging from his thoughts (to use the term loosely) Vashathi didn’t even remember her name, much less any political or military minutiae.

A vast distaste began to seep into Mara’s consciousness. She didn’t like this. The physical effects were undeniably enjoyable, but the hunger sweeping through the Vicomte was undiscerning in the extreme. She could sense, blazing loud and clear through the Force, that he didn’t know and didn’t care who she was; she was just a body for him to use. Nothing more.

He was... just using her.

 _Using_ her.

She felt her molars grind against each other.

His fingers began working at the fasteners of her gown, and sudden claustrophobia overwhelmed her. “Stop- just… wait a second,” Mara grunted as he released her mouth to begin gnawing at her shoulder.

He gave no indication that he heard her, his mouth working downward to the top of her breast. His sense began to overwhelm her with its animalistic urgency, and a grimace twisted her mouth. She shifted away from him, her hands pushing against his muscle-sculpted chest. She tried again, this time in her naïve, first-time-ball-attendee voice. “Delmon, please. You’re going too fast for me!”

His only response was to push her more deeply into the cushion. Her disgust began to shift into panic as the other’s sense became even more primal. His hand slid up her thigh and started to pull her dress up over her hips. She angrily yanked it back down, gave him a hard shove and cracked her open palm across his face. He finally stopped, staring down at her in utter shock. Twisting her legs, she knocked him under the jaw with one knee and pushed off of his chest with her other foot, using the sofa arm behind her head as leverage to pull her entire body out from under him and flip to her feet over the armrest in a single, cat-like movement.

She backed away three more steps and hesitated there, uncertain if she’d just blown her cover and wondering if she even cared. The Vicomte traced his fingers along the inside of his lips and stared at the small trace of blood on the tips. He looked up at her, an eagerly predatory expression darkening his features. “So you like it _rough_ , do you? I wasn’t expecting that in one so young, but I’m game.”

 _Run_ , her instincts screamed. But her brain was still wondering if she could or should salvage the mission, and her reactions were too slow. Leaping off the sofa, he grabbed her arm and yanked her around and slammed her against the nearest wall. She impacted hard enough to knock the breath out of her, and he continued to keep her off-balance as he pushed her into the nearest bedroom, ripping at her clothes the entire time. Utter fury coursed through Mara. She managed a half dozen hits and jabs as she fought to regain her footing, but every effort of resistance only fed that hungry, mindless, predatory frenzy. She finally managed a knife hand strike across his throat, though it wasn’t strong enough to disable him. He coughed and responded with a backhanded cuff across her face and some hoarsely chuckled theories about her supposed sexual preferences.

Enraged past the edge of reason, Mara did something she had never done before in all her years of training; she punched Vashathi in the face. Pain blazed in her knuckles and up her arm, but she ignored it all as she grabbed his collar and smashed her forehead into his. She didn’t let him reel back, but gripped his head in her hands and prepared to snap his neck... and hesitated. She wasn’t supposed to _kill_ him; she was supposed to _bed_ him. The circumstances had triggered her well-honed combat training, but wasn’t the mission still going according to plan? She should count herself lucky that her actions had been so thoroughly misinterpre-

In those two seconds of hesitation, Vashathi locked her arms behind her back. He pulled her around to the large bed and pushed her face into the covers, forcing her to her knees. Indignant anger spiked again, and she thrashed against the hold. But he leaned his weight into her by way of a knee to her upper back, the edge of the bed cutting into her chest and compressing her lungs. He kept her pinned there as she gasped for air and fought against unconsciousness. Rage and panic built to a crescendo inside of her, and she prepared to use the Force to retaliate. _You’ll blow your cover!_ one of the voices inside of her screamed.

 _To blazes with my cover!_ was the instant rebuttal, but again, the doubt and uncertainty aborted her plans to free herself.

Those conflicting thoughts screeched to a halt as the Vicomte pulled the long slide fastener of her dress down her back. The cool air of the bedroom whispered across her bare skin, and a cold lump like a stone dropped into Mara’s stomach. He slid her dress down past her arms, recapturing her hands as they flailed and scratched at him. Then, jerking her to her feet, he spun her around and threw her down on her back.

Mara let out a sharp cry of pain as her neck rebounded awkwardly off the bed’s surface. She blinked away the dark spots clouding her vision and found herself staring up at Vashathi. Again, her mind crashed to a halt. He had somehow removed his clothes while holding her against the edge of the bed, and now he stared down at her in appreciation.

He was naked.

And…

And _erect_.

Her instincts and her mission continued to scream at her simultaneously, paralyzing her with indecision. He grabbed the rolls of satin and silk gathered at her hips, hooking his fingertips into the edge of her undergarments. With a single, swift motion, he stripped her down to nothing.

She froze, the vulnerability of her sudden and complete exposure immobilizing her like a sudden plunge into sub-zero waters. The Vicomte took one of her knees in each hand and slowly pulled her legs apart. An uncharacteristic whimper escaped Mara’s throat as, for an instant, the Imperial agent-in-training was overwhelmed by the terrified, almost-fifteen-year-old girl. But as the Vicomte slid his body into hers- _thrust_ his body into hers- Mara let her own body go limp, pulled her mind inside of herself, and waited for it all to be over.

* * *

The air was thick with silence.

It was a silence beyond a simple lack of noise. She could hear Vashathi breathing beside her, hear the faint scratching sound of the sheets shifting as his chest rose and fell, hear the faint hum of various electronic devices around the room. But none of these sounds mattered to Mara, lying numb and paralyzed on the bed.

The minutes crawled by, morphed into hours as Mara lay in utter stillness, barely even breathing. _Get up_ , a quiet voice pressed from deep inside her. _You have to get up_.

Even with the gentle insistence of the little voice, it took Mara almost twenty minutes to find her limbs again. She shifted her aching body, and pain blazed up everywhere below her navel and above her knees. She rolled off the edge of the bed, wincing as the mattress creaked. But Vashathi’s breathing rhythm continued without a hitch.

She limped to the bathroom, avoiding the large lump of silk and satin on the carpet. She resolutely kept her gaze away from the mirrors and stepped into the shower, bypassing the standard sonic controls in favor of the luxuriously wasteful old-style option. There was a loud squeak of unused pipes and a sputter of air before a thick spray of water cascaded over her. She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, letting her mind blank out, numb to everything but the sensation of hundreds of tiny rivers coursing down her body to her feet.

She began to shake.

 _Stop it!_ The inner voice commanded. _Pull yourself together!_

She pressed her hands against the cool marble of the shower wall and tried to keep from hyperventilating. _It’s okay;_ the little voice tried to soothe. _It’s okay. Just calm down._

Mara angrily tossed her wet hair over her shoulder, one thin wet rope slapping against her cheek. Her hand twisted one of the knobs and the water volume increased. The warm shower grew hotter and hotter, the streams stinging as they hit her skin. The temperature steadily increased as the water became scalding, turning her skin livid pink wherever it landed. Mara clenched her jaw and endured the blistering pain, and moved her hand to the knob again.

_Stop this. Stop doing this to yourself._

Mara hesitated, her hand barely visible through the billows of steam.

_It wasn’t your fault. Don’t punish yourself._

Hissing through her teeth, Mara reluctantly heeded her reasonable inner self. She shut off the water and stood there, feeling every remaining drop on her body travel inexorably downwards. After an indeterminable length of time, she stepped out of the shower.

The mirrors were completely fogged up, and Mara was glad. She didn’t want to see herself, didn’t want to know where the bruises and bites marked her skin. Her trembling hand contracted into a tight fist which she prepared to smash into the glass surface. She couldn’t wait to hear the crack and shatter, to feel a thousand razor-sharp shards bury themselves into her fragmented knuckles-

_Stop. Stop punishing yourself._

She lowered her fist and unsteadily made her way towards the door. Every surface, every wall screamed to be punched, but her inner voice repeated over and over again, _Stop punishing yourself._

The bathroom door opened, releasing plumes of steam into the cool bedroom. Mara silently stepped over to the bed next to its single, sleeping occupant.

 _Him,_ the voice offered. _Punish_ him _._

That seemed utterly reasonable.

Without hesitation Mara scanned the darkened room. She’d brought neither knife nor gun with her on this mission, but a heavy decorative sculpture on the sitting room table was the perfect shape and size. She hefted it, savoring the satisfying weight, and stepped back into the bedroom, swinging it over one shoulder and tensing her muscles to smash it into his skull-

 _< Stop!>_ the Emperor’s harsh command spat into her thoughts.

Mara angrily shook off her Master’s order and tightened her hands around the sculpture. Muscles flexed again-

_< **Mara Jade!** >_

A bolt of pain seared through Mara’s mind. She gave a harsh gasp and her twitching fingers released the sculpture to send it thudding to the floor behind her. She found herself on her knees as the white light retreated from her vision. Her ragged breathing echoed in her ears as the Emperor’s very displeased voice thundered through her brain. _< Return to Coruscant and report to my Throne Room for reevaluation.>_

She continued panting heavily, trying to gather her thoughts. Reluctantly, she hauled herself to her feet, still a bit unsteady. Heedless to the world, Vashathi shifted in his sleep. Another wave of fury built inside her-

 _< Immediately,>_ the Emperor’s cold voice spoke into her thoughts.

She stared down at the sleeping Vicomte for another handful of seconds, her hands spasming into fists. Finally, she spun on her heel, picked up her clothes off the floor, dressed herself, and left the guest quarters as quietly as a ghost.


End file.
